and then
by tombombadillo
Summary: and so the detective fell in love with the writer


**Otherwise known as "holy crap KT wrote sexcee times). For Sarah, cos she asked so very nicely.**

**(okay I've never even written M rated stuff before and I have no idea if this is any good so like, you know BE NICE AND EVERYTHING OKAY)**

**Disclaimer: yeah I blatantly own Castle. Pfft.**

* * *

_come help_

The text beeps at him at about half eight that morning, disturbing a rather nice dream involving a hot shower, lots of soap and Kate Beckett with no clothes on. He looks at his phone, trying to get his eyes to just _focus _on the screen. Help? What does she need his help with? He texts back, something about an hour, and more sleep and _too early_. She texts back, _lazy_, and he laughs. As it is, he's awake now. He doesn't want to get out of bed, he'd rather he was already in Kate's bed, or she was in his. Or hell, even the sofa. He wastes time in the shower, stands there for a good five minutes and just letting the hot water stream over his face. He uses the apple and cinnamon body wash, the one that he knows Kate loves. She can't help but bury her head in the crook of his neck for minutes at a time. And he does like it when she does that.

His phone is ringing again as he's running a towel through his hair and he's pressing it into his ear with a huff. "You're impatient."

"I want your help."

"With what?"

She hums, seductive and amused all at the same time. "That's a surprise. Hurry up and you'll find out."

"That's not fair." He whines, but she just laughs at him and hangs up. Cheeky woman.

* * *

Forty five minutes and he's knocking on her door, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Eventually – sheesh, she takes forever sometimes – she pulls the door open. It's not what he expected. Her hair is up in a messy ponytail, and those are rubber gloves on her hands. Rubber gloves? Seriously?

"Not a French maid outfit?" She rolls her eyes at him and starts to pull the gloves off. "Alright, alright. I can dig the housewife look. You haven't invited me over here for steamy sex though, have you?"

"No, Castle. Can't say that I have. Thought you might want to help me spring clean."

"It's Autumn," he retaliates, "so ask me to spring clean in the _spring._"

"I'm holding you to that." She closes the door behind her, throws the gloves onto her kitchen counter. "I'm in the bedroom."

"I knew you didn't invite me over for cleaning." He grins.

"Could you have the mind out of the gutter just for two minutes?" she sighs at him, turning on her heel and heading over to the bedroom door.

"My mind is always in the gutter, Kate. You know that. And it's not like you help, with all your humming and your laughing and when you roll your eyes at me when I say something that you shouldn't find adorable but you do. And when you text me at ridiculous o clock asking me to come help, what am I supposed to think?!"

"Don't need your help with that. I can manage _perfectly_ fine."

He groans, tips his head back. "And then you say things like that and I just have this image of you wearing nothing but those black lace thingies with your hand doing –"

She claps a hand over his mouth, standing far too close for him to even stop thinking about the way her back arches when she comes undone and those _gasps_ and he wants her in bed. Or on any surface. He doesn't care, he just - "Kate, why is your bed covered in books?"

"I told you," she said, all breathy and quiet and _she's such a tease_. "I'm cleaning."

He moves past her – hand not so subtly dipping underneath the waistband of her jeans – examines the books that litter the covers. "Kate?" She comes to stand behind him, one hand around his waist and the other finding his. "These are my books."

"Why is this such a surprise to you? You've seen your books on my bookshelves."

"Yes, but these are different. These are…" he reaches down to pick one up, turning it over in his hands.

There's a slight grainy feel to it, rather than the smooth plastic-y feel of her others. He frowns, looking at the others. There's one book, the plastic cover is gone, but the hard cover is more than recognisable. "Storm Season?"

"Mhm."

"But it's all… burnt and black from the explosion. I gave you new ones. Why do you still have them?"

"Memories, mainly. Some of them were my mothers, some I bought."

That takes him by disguise. He turns around, leans backwards against the frame. "Your… your mother read my books?"

"Yeah, she loved them. Me and Dad, we'd always laugh at her, the way she runs off to the bookshop as soon as you'd released a new one. She'd stay up for hours at night just reading and it would drive Dad crazy. After she died… when Dad was asleep on the sofa after drinking himself stupid, I'd curl up on her side of the bed. Dad hadn't slept in it and it still smelt like her. Your book was still on her bedside table. She'd never finished. And I just picked it up and I read it. And I didn't stop, not until I finished it. And after that I went and read all the others." She leant against him, arms around his rib cage and reaching up to lay her palms against his shoulder blades. "It took me a while to get why she loved them. And then it just hit me. The way you invest in the victim, and the characters, and the sense of justice that they get… it helped. I knew I'd never get justice for my mother, not properly, but to be able to read – even if they were fictional – they got closure, and answers, and that helped me find some sort of peace. With everything."

He knew she was a fan. He wasn't entirely sure of how big of a fan – not until now – but this. This is. "You never hated me in the first place. Did you?"

"I didn't… I never _hated_ you. You were just…" she sighed, and stepped away from him. "Can you imagine having to arrest your favourite author, and then him insist on writing a book about you, and following you around on every case you try and work – it was every fan girls dream and my nightmare. And then…" she trails off, her bottom lip finding its way in between her teeth.

"And then?" he prompted, pulling backwards so he could look at her properly.

She's still tugging on her lip, he's stopped trying to make her quit, and looking at him carefully. Calculating. "And then I had to go and fall in love with you." She says, with the quiet confidence that he admires – loves – so much about her.

He lifts his hands, coasts his thumbs across her cheekbones, his fingers feathering her neck. Her eyes are full of tears, a single drop sliding down her cheek which he soon catches with his thumb. She's still looking at him, and he probably should say _something_ because he's been silent for a while, and he's just… He really can't do anything other than kiss her. She laughs against his mouth and he can't help but smile, even as he pushes her around to the side of the bed. She stops him before he can guide her down, pushes him away slightly with the palm of her hand.

"Books are in the way." She murmurs against his cheek. "Hold your horses, just for a minute."

He huffs, but he lets her turn around and pile the books onto the floor underneath her bed. He barely lets her put the last book on the pile before he's got an arm around her waist and pulling her towards him. The force of her landing against his chest sends him sprawling backwards on the bed. She falls with him, a knee between his thighs and her hands on either side of his head.

* * *

Her hair is a curtain around her face and he uses a hand to gather it all up and toss it over one shoulder, arches up so he can kiss her.  
"Clothes." She growls. "Off."  
Castle rolls them over easily, leaves Kate lying on the bed with her eyes hooded and her breath hard. He can't takes his eyes off her as he tries to tug down his zipper. Kate is using her toes to tug his trousers down his thighs and he has to grab hold of her ankles to stop her. He kicks them off, bends down to kiss her again while Kate's hands pull at the buttons on his shirt. He retaliates by sliding his hand underneath the hem of her shirt, feeling the flat plane of her stomach under his palm. It's hot and burning and he carries on, pushing her shirt up around her chest. One hand tugs on Beckett's jeans, all black and tight and clinging in all the _wrong_ but all the _right_ places. She's got her hand on him, tugging and squeezing, trying to distract him, and damn her, but it's working. He groans, his head bowing into her neck, and he hears - and feels - her throaty chuckle. Well, two can play at that game. He abandons his work on her trousers, trails his fingers up the inside of Beckett's thigh. Her legs fall open upon his exploration, and without any preamble he pushes two fingers straight into her, hard and fast. The noise that falls from Kate's mouth is - oh, something from the deepest darkest pits of hell - and he pulls his fingers out - pushes them in again. He can't get enough of that noise. It makes his blood boil and his head pound and the arousal in his abdomen coils even tighter.  
"Castle." she gasps, her eyes closed and her neck arching away from him. "Castle, I want-"  
He stills his fingers, feels her muscles tighten around them. "What do you want, Kate?"  
"I want - need - you. I - you. Please, Castle." He pushes his fingers deeper in, and Kate's whine just sends him higher. "Now. Please."  
He moves his fingers slowly, trails them up her stomach before following with his tongue. Beckett growls, fed up of the teasing and chooses to completely surprise him by rolling them right over. She's kicked her trousers off (not sure when that happened) and she doesn't waste any time in taking him in hand and guiding him to her entrance. She's hot and wet and snug around him and - _fuck-_ this is not going to last long. Not when she's leaning back with her hands on his thighs and moving her hips back and forth, a constant motion that's making him see stars. He didn't quite realise just how close both of them were, the knot in his stomach is growing tighter and tighter and it's almost getting unbearable, and hell if she keeps doing that this is going to be over a lot sooner than he planned, but Kate's making this high squeaky noises - dispersed with _oh god_ and _fuck_ and _shit, Castle_- and he's pretty sure that neither of them are that far away from falling over that edge.

She's so close - so very close - and she just needs that little something, an extra push - just to - and then Castle is lifting his hand and stroking her thumb along her cheekbone, his fingers moving into her hair and pulling her down for a kiss that's not as hard and as fiery and as powerful as all the other times, but it's by no means any less passionate. It's slow, and it's tender, and it's exactly the thing she doesn't need because she wants it hot and hard and fast but fuck, if it doesn't do it for her. She keens into his mouth, her hips jerking of their own accord and there's nothing she can do from being overpowered by the rush through her veins and the feeling of Castle soon following her over.

* * *

"I signed this."

He's incredulous, sprawled on the sofa three hours later and holding Kate's copy of Storm Season in his hands. "When did I sign this?"

Kate's standing at the kitchen counter, wearing nothing except his shirt (it's not the one he was wearing when he arrived, and he's not entirely sure when exactly he left it here) and waiting for the kettle to boil. "Seven years ago. Stood in line for hours. I never expected you to remember, I mean you sign hundreds of books every year. Nothing special about me."

"But you are – Kate, you're –"

"Now, maybe. Seven years ago you didn't know I existed."

"I could have done," he pouted, sitting up and setting the book on the table in front of him. "That's so unfair."

Kate sighed, leant against the counter with her arms folded. "You wouldn't have known me. I wouldn't have let you."

"Well, it's not like you let me this time. And anyway, we were both different people seven years ago. Hell, I was fresh out of a divorce."

Kate sighs and walks over to him. "Why is it so important to you? Seven years ago you would have got a one night stand and an empty bed in the morning. Now you get numerous one night stands and a not so empty bed."

"It's not like you were available. You were with Will at the time."

Kate groans as she sits next to him, draws her knees up against his thigh. "I hate that you know that. How do you know that."

He shrugged, dragged his palm up her bare skin. "Suppose I'm just that good at working out time lines. And it wasn't hard to work out, really."

"Whatever, the point still stands. I'm much happier that you know me now, and you didn't attempt know me seven years ago. We'd regret it."

"I wouldn't. I really, really wouldn't."

"Well, I would have. And I'd rather not have to regret sleeping with someone. Okay?"

"Okay." He grinned, pulled on her leg until she found herself sat atop his thighs, his thumbs brushing her hips. "Much better now than it would be back then. I agree. But the real question is, where the hell did you get my shirt from? Not that I mind, because I positively love watching you walk around wearing nothing but my shirt, but I have never left one here ever. I'd remember walking home with no shirt on. And I haven't done that."

Kate grinned. "I stole it from your wardrobe. I like wearing them."

Castle hummed his agreement. "I like taking them off even more."


End file.
